I'm a Dragon, You're a Whore
by kennystrapqueen
Summary: AU - Kyle is a high school teacher, and Stan the quarterback is mad about the grade he got on his essay.


I wasn't intending to write this, but it just kind of happened! It is unbetad and barely proofread - I wrote it over the course of a couple hours yesterday afternoon.

Title is taken from Lana Del Rey's song 'Fucked My Way Up to the Top'.

Warning(s): Where do I even start? This fic contains non-consensual sex/rape, intense degradation, homophobic slurs before and during sex, bleeding, hair pulling, choking, public sex, and possibly some other upsetting things. Proceed with caution.

* * *

Sometime after the last bell of the day has rung, Kyle is sitting at his desk quietly grading rough drafts from his third period. He flips a strand of his auburn hair out of his face and sighs to himself, closing his eyes and leaning back in his chair, taking a brief moment to relax before he continues going through the large stack of essays.

When he hears the door to his classroom slam open, Kyle's eyes flip open and he sits up and whips his head around in record time. He's sure that there's a huge dent in the wall from the door handle, and he feels an insult travelling up his throat, but he pushes it back down, taking a deep breath. Despite how much he complains about this job, he still _needs_ it and cussing out a student won't do anything but get him fired.

Stan barges in, wearing some jeans and his jersey because it's Friday, and the team always wears their jerseys on Friday to 'promote school spirit and raise morale', or at least that's what Kyle has been told. Stan stomps over, throwing his backpack to the opposite corner of the room, and shoves the papers Kyle was marking off of his desk. He tosses a single paper into their place, and now that Stan is this close, Kyle can see the veins sticking out in his neck, threatening to burst. His face is just as red as his jersey, and he towers over Kyle, leaning onto the desk and putting his face right in front of Kyle's. Kyle would be lying if he said that he wasn't genuinely scared. Part of him wonders if Stan is on steroids. "Why the fuck did you give me an F on my paper? It was flawless," Stan yells out and slams his hand down onto the desk; Kyle flinches.

Kyle gulps and tries not to let his fear show through any more than it already is. "Having another student write your paper for you is grounds for failure, Stan."

Stan stands up and smiles, but there is some evil, some psychosis hiding behind Stan's pearly-white teeth. The sudden shift in Stan's mood is extremely disturbing, and Kyle starts plotting out escape routes. "I didn't have somebody else write it for me," he says simply, and softly, and Kyle thinks this might be how he dies.

Kyle evaluates how to best handle the situation, but Stan seems to be growing impatient. He speaks calmly, almost emotionless, hoping that maybe Stan won't lunge at him if he keeps his voice even. "I already spoke to Butters about this, Stan. He admitted to writing the paper. You s-should just be glad I'm not sending you to the principal over this. You could get suspended or expelled."

Stan scoffs. "No I can't. I'm fucking untouchable! I'm the _star_ of the goddamn _football_ team. And you're some fag English teacher." Stan looks Kyle in the eyes and states, "You wouldn't dare turn me in."

Kyle musters up all of the bravery he can and arches his eyebrow. "And why wouldn't I? In fact, why _shouldn't_ I after the scene you've just caused?"

Stan laughs and leans back against one of the desks in the front row of the class, and there is something so sinister about Stan's laugh that Kyle shudders.

"I've seen the way you look at me, _Mr. Broflovski_ ," Stan mocks him. "You think other people haven't noticed that shit? And the way you walk around here, Jesus Christ, you're the biggest fag I've ever seen in my whole life. Everybody talks about it. All I'd have to say is that you're making these accusations about me because I turned you down."

Kyle shakes his head. "Nobody would believe that."

That was a mistake.

Stan shoves himself up and makes his way over to Kyle. He uses his right hand to grab Kyle up from the chair by his tie. "Oh, really? You don't think they would believe that you want me, Mr. Broflovski?" Kyle reaches up, grasping at the tie and trying to loosen Stan's grip on it. Stan just uses his left hand to grab roughly at Kyle's hair, controlling him by it and forcing him onto his tip-toes as Kyle attempts to avoid as much of the pain as he can.

"S-Stan," Kyle squeaks out, "please don't do this. Y-you're ruining your life and your chance at scholarships and-"

"Who the _fuck_ is going to believe you over me, huh?" Stan whispers into his ear and snarls, fucking _snarls_ , at him. "Who the fuck would believe a _faggot_ like you?"

Kyle hates it when Stan says that word, the word he has no right to say, but the rough treatment that he is experiencing at the hands of this strong and virile man start to get him hard. If he cries for help, Stan could claim that Kyle had made a move on him, and how could they know for sure that he hadn't? Kyle feels tears coming to his eyes, knowing that the situation can only get worse from here.

Stan lets go of his tie and reaches down, palming at the front of Kyle's dress pants. A look of shock comes across Stan's face before he burst out in laughter, his grip on Kyle's hair loosening slightly but his grip on Kyle's crotch tightening. "Th..That's _it_?" Stan continues laughing and reaches down to unbutton Kyle's pants, and Kyle's hands fly down to try to stop him, but Stan simply grabs him be the wrists and pins them to the desk, biting hard onto Kyle's neck. "Fucking _STOP_. You're just making this harder on yourself." He lets go of Kyle's right hand, and Kyle still squirms, trying to fight him, but Stan manages to get the button undone, and the zipper is quickly pulled down. Stan starts shoving at his pants, and Kyle grabs at them desperately, fighting to keep them up, but Stan bites onto his neck again, _harder_. Kyle yelps and stops resisting, tears finally spilling onto his cheeks now.

Stan reaches into Kyle's boxers, laughing when he finally reaches the object of his interest. "Should have known. Bet all you fags have fucking baby cocks like this. I guess it suits you." Stan gives the tiny circumcised cock a few hard, passive-aggressive strokes, and against his better judgment, Kyle moans before he can stop himself. Stan laughs again, his head flying back just a little. "Jesus, how long's it been since someone else has touched you?"

Before Kyle can even blink, Stan has turned him around and shoved him down so that his chest is flush against the desk, his head hitting against the three-hole punch he keeps at the front of it. Stan reaches up and tosses it to the floor in front of the desk, shoving more stacks of paper off of the desk along with it. The older man feels Stan's denim-clad erection rubbing against his bare ass, and he lays his head on the desk, crying as silently as he can.

Kyle hears the sound of the lotion he keeps on his desk being pumped and then he feels Stan's fingers, cold and slick, against his hole. He tries to relax, hoping to make this as easy on himself as he can.

"Not even gonna fight me anymore?" Kyle can tell Stan is smirking at him, and he tries to go to his happy place; he tries desperately to ignore the fingers probing at him. Stan shoves two fingers in roughly, and Kyle takes in a quick breath, tightening himself unintentionally around the intrusion. Stan probes around like he's looking for something, and Kyle wonders if he's done this before, and then – _there_. Kyle moans when his spot is hit, and as soon as he realizes it, he shoves his hand into his mouth, biting down on it and hoping and praying no one heard him. Stan laughs and grabs Kyle's arm, yanking it back away from Kyle's mouth, and then Stan is there, his breath hot against Kyle's ear as he whispers, "No, I _want_ to hear you. I want to hear you moan while I fuck you in the ass. I want to play it over the fucking intercom so everybody can know I'm doing this to you, and you _like_ it. You sick bastard."

Kyle lets out a high pitched whine, and Stan lets go of his hand to reach down and around, jerking off Kyle's small member again. Stan laughs at him again. "Jesus, Broflovski, even when you're rock hard you're still so fucking tiny." Kyle can feel himself getting close as Stan continues to pound his fingers into him, slamming into his spot over and over and over, and Kyle swears he's seeing bright white stars dancing around the classroom.

As if he can read Kyle's mind, Stan instantly removes his hand from his dick and pulls his fingers out, and Kyle whines at the sudden emptiness. Kyle hears Stan's pants hit the ground, and he instantly tenses up. He hears the lotion bottle being pumped again, two, three times, and Kyle's heart rate increases with each pump. Suddenly, he feels something big - way bigger than any of the dildos Kyle has at home, and that's saying something – pressing against his entrance, and he gasps, trying to turn his head around to see the size what is about to be slammed up into his ass, but Stan just grabs Kyle's hair and shoves his face into the desk, hard.

He lines his dick up with Kyle's hole and starts to press in, and holy fuck he's going to rip Kyle in two.

"Oh, fuuuuck yeah," Stan says, sighing as Kyle's ass greedily takes his dick. Kyle keeps wondering when it's going to stop, it can't possibly be this big, but it is and Kyle doesn't know what to do except cry out and hold onto the edge of the desk for dear life. He tries to move away, but Stan grabs his ass and pulls him back onto his dick, hard, and Kyle cries out in pain. Once Stan is all the way in, he holds still for a moment and leans forward again, petting Kyle's hair. The ginger man feels the muscles of the well-developed man through his jersey and if the situation were different, maybe he would enjoy that observation more. Stan grins against his ear and whispers to him, "If you _ever_ try to pull this stupid shit on me again, I won't even use lotion."

With that, Stan lets go, his hips pulling out and then snapping right back until he's balls deep in the tiny man beneath him. Kyle cries out loudly, trying to resist, but unable to avoid making noise just from the sheer size of the man entering him. He feels something warm, possibly blood, trickling down the inside of his thighs. He reaches down and desperately grabs at his neglected cock, jerking it off as fast as he can manage from his awkward position. Between the degradation and Stan's massive build and cock, It only takes a few strokes before Kyle is coming all over his desk. "Stan!" he cries out, and as he spasms, he feels himself tightening around the younger man's dick, and its then that he hears a single explicative before Stan's come begins to fill his abused hole. When he's done, Stan falls forward, pinning Kyle to the desk and _cuddling up against his back_ for a moment.

Stan sighs somewhat contentedly, but Kyle can barely breathe, and he starts to struggle to get up, expressing his concern through gasping and flailing.

"Oh, sorry," Stan says, as if he was oblivious to the intense pain he has just caused Kyle. As he stands up, his dick starts to pull out of Kyle, and the teacher hisses at the sensation. Kyle stays splayed out over the desk for a moment before attempting to stand up and crying out from the soreness in his ass. He doesn't know what to say, so he just focuses on getting dressed again and using the Kleenex that had been knocked onto the floor to clean up the come that is on… well, everything.

Stan sits back in Kyle's chair, taking a few hard breaths and watching the older man clean the area meticulously before going to pick up all of the papers that have been tossed around the room. Once he's collected himself, the athlete stands up from the chair and goes to Kyle, wrapping his arms around his stomach and pushing his crotch up against the older man's ass. "We should do that again someday."

Kyle doesn't respond, his mind completely blank. Stan kisses the back of his head and moves away from him. He finds his paper among the casualties that lie on the floor and places it on Kyle's desk again, right in the center of his desk. "I expect you'll reconsider the grade you gave my paper. See you on Monday, Mr. Broflovski."

And with that, the dark haired boy walks out of the room, closing the door gently behind him.


End file.
